


between the sand and the stardust

by blue--phantom (twilightscribe)



Series: red strings of fate [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Au Ra Warrior of Light, Drabble Sequence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, M/M, Non-ambiguous Warrior of Light, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Red String of Fate, Romantic Soulmates, Soul Bond, Threesome - M/M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 16,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom
Summary: "If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a name I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I." – Lang LeavThere are those bound together by the threads of fate, destined to find each other again and again. But the course of true love never did run smooth...





	1. answer

The strings are little more than faintly translucent lines tied around his pinky finger. At night as a child, he wraps his fingers around them tightly, holding them close to his heart. With them so close, the little twinges of emotions not his own are stronger – enough that he can _almost_ discern them.

Durae doesn’t know what it means, and wonders if he should ask his mother.

But she’s always busy, managing a household with as many children as theirs has. Everyone has their role, their part to play, in making sure that things run smoothly. But Durae is the odd one out, the youngest by far and his older sisters are quick to remind him that he’s too young to be of much use.

Sechen swoops him up, off the floor, and takes him for long walks about their home and the surrounding wilderness.

“What do the strings mean?” Durae asks, one day, perched as he is on his brother’s shoulders. He keeps trying to catch the strings in his fingers, but the see-through strands are difficult to see – much less catch.

“Strings? You mean you have more than one?”

Durae nods, even though his brother can’t see him, “Yes. There are two.”

“Well! That means you’re doubly blessed, Durae!” Sechen grins, squeezing his shins. “The strings connect us to our soulmates – surely you have felt some twinges of emotions in you that are not your own.”

There were the nightmares, Durae remembers. The loneliness that stings along the edges of his mind. The pain that had made his heart ache so, as faint as it had been it had been so _strong_. He’s felt twinges of pride and sorrow and joy that are not his own – that much he knows.

“I’ve… felt them. But they’re not always good. They’re very lonely. And sad. I want to make that go away.”

Sechen tilts his head back enough so that Durae can see his smile, “One day, you will meet them and can make that happen. They will not have to be alone again, then, will they?”

“Because I’m going to be with them forever, right?”

“That’s right,” Sechen says. “And no one could possibly stay sad with you around, could they?”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s the truth! You’re like a little ray of sunshine, Durae!”

“ _Now_ you’re being ridiculous, Sechen.” He pauses, then asks, “Does everyone else have strings?”

Sechen nods, “Everyone has one. You’re just _extra_ special and got two. But they are only visible to their owners. And the closer you get to your soulmates, the brighter and stronger the colour of your threads.”

“What colour are they supposed to be?”

“Red, I believe. At least, mine is red.”

Durae looks down at his threads, squinting his eyes, but the colours are too pale and faded for him to make much out, “I think one is darker than the other.”

“Hmm, I’ve never heard of anything similar.”

“Do you think it means something?”

“It could, but you likely will not know till you meet them.”

“I hope they’re nice, like you.”

Sechen laughs, throwing his head back, his smile splitting his face, “Well, thank you very much, Durae. I’ll keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 018\. Answer  
>  **Words:** 542 words
> 
> Why yes, this is a soulmate AU. I am that kind of trash. I have an addiction and I must feed it in whatever way I can. Hopefully, others find enjoyment in it as well.


	2. funeral

The last place he wants to be is in the room with Sechen’s corpse.

His mother weeps softly into her hands, his father the steadfast, stoic presence that he always is at her side and refusing to make eye contact with any of his children. Even when he brought Durae in, with a guiding hand on his shoulder, his expression never changed from the same thin line that it always is.

Rather than look at his brother – _it wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this_ – Durae stares at his hands, balled up into fists on his knees. His strings, faint as they are, wink in the light of the room.

One is definitely darker than the other. Even with it being as faint as it is, the red is a deeper hue than the other, which appears more like a faint pink line against the grey of his skin.

Sechen and him never found a reason for why one is darker than another. And now, Durae is on his own to find the answers – to find whoever is on the other ends of his strings.

He wonders if they will be able to fill the void that has opened up inside him.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Sechen had _promised_ him that he would be fine. That he would come back. And while his brother _did_ come back, it doesn’t fulfill his promise. No, instead his body was brought into their home, where his family now stands vigil before the funeral proper.

Even with the sheet pulled up over him, Durae knows that his brother’s chest has been blown clean open.

Bile burns at the back of his throat, but he swallows it back down. None of his siblings make a move to comfort him; each of them sit and stare with the same blank-eyed stare, though his sisters’ eyes are misty with unshed tears.

The silence rings loudly in his ears and he tightens his fists until his nails dig painful, bloody crescents into his palms. Even then, he doesn’t stop. Not until the blood begins to well between his fingers and the smell of iron fills his nostrils.

Chotan gives him a sharp look, nostrils flaring, and he shoots a dark look at Durae’s hands.

He trembles, but doesn’t look back. Rather, he continues to stare at his hands. With a soft glow and a little exertion, the wounds close.

But the pain remains.

He’s still alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 003\. Funeral  
>  **Words:** 414 words


	3. prevention

Each day brings with it new trials, Durae finds. Ever since he picked up the crystal in the Twelveswood and met the Scions, it’s been nothing but one new trial after another. Not that he truly minds, because he’s seen much more of Eorzea than he ever could have dreamed he would when he first left home.

It’s to prevent another primal from being raised that brings them to Coerthas.

Durae has never been to Coerthas before, but he decides that it’s likely his least favourite place in Eorzea very quickly. Neither he nor Alphinaud are dressed for the bitterly cutting winds or blowing snow, their attire better suited for the far more mild climes of Gridania and heat of Ul’dah.

He’s wrapped his arms around himself, trying vainly to ward off the constant chill when he notices it.

His threads are darker, much more solid, and have lost their translucent quality. One of them is bright red, the colour of the lanterns he vaguely remembers when he was a young child, while the other is a deeper, richer red – like spilled blood.

He nearly stops in his tracks. Never, not in all of his travels, have his threads changed in their colouration.

But here, in this frigid wasteland, they light up.

_His soulmates are close._

Even though he’s seven and twenty now, Durae has never given up hope that he will one day find them. It’s a small, little hope of his that he’s nursed all these years – ever since Sechen’s death and the loneliness still cuts him deeply – that one day he would find them.

These aren’t the circumstances he imagined, however.

He’d been hoping for something a little more… peaceful. Where the fate of nations aren’t resting ominously on his shoulders. When there aren’t so many unanswered questions and worries about what has happened to the Scions.

And certainly not when he’s certain he might be about to lose all feeling in his extremities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 054\. Prevention  
>  **Words:** 330 words


	4. first time

Returning to Coerthas isn’t something Durae’s particularly keen about. It’s cold and if there is one thing that he hates it’s the cold – and _being_ cold most of all.

However, the draw of his strings keeps pulling him back. Not to mention his duties with the Scions.

It’s because of the Scions that he’s returning. Only this time, they have an invitation. Of a sort.

Alphinaud is more keen about the politics of the situation than Durae is. He’s full of a wide-eyed zeal that Durae had long grown out of, though he has to admire the depths of his idealism. It’s a refreshing change from the pragmatic realism and pessimism that seem so common in Eorzea as of late. So, while Alphinaud chatters on about what this meeting could mean for Ishgardian relations, Durae spends the trip watching his strings.

The colours grow more and more rich the further into Coerthas they travel. And, when they reach Camp Dragonhead, the colours are so vivid that he can see both threads as they stretch across the expanse of the courtyard.

“Something the matter?” Alphinaud asks.

“It’s nothing.”

He should tell Alphinaud, but the matter of his threads is so personal that it feels… strange to even think about sharing them with another. As close as he is to Alphinaud, as much as he trusts him, he doesn’t want to share this detail with him. Not yet, anyway.

He doesn’t want to see the look of sympathy when he admits that he hasn’t found them.

It’s a look that he’s long become familiar with and one that makes the ache in his chest worse. To have it come from someone he _knows_ , is friends with, would be too much to bear. He doesn’t want their sympathy over being his age and not having found his matches yet; it would always be there, and he doesn’t want it.

His heart leaps up into his chest as he follows Alphinaud into the great hall. His threads lead off to the side, turning around the building and vanishing.

_Could it be…?_

Shaking his head, Durae focuses on the matter at hand. They have business to attend to, and that must come first.

 

 

 

The Intercessory is a windowless room, dominated by a large table at its centre. There’s only one door in and out, through which he and Alphinaud enter – followed closely by Haurchefant.

His breath catches in his throat when he realizes _the other ends of his threads are here_.

The bright, bright red one trails across the room, across the table, to where it’s tied about the finger of a handsome man dressed in fine armour and blue cloth. Even though he’s sitting down, he commands the attention of all in the room and rises when they enter.

His eyes linger on Durae, whose breath has caught in his throat.

“You must be the Scions’ representatives,” he greets. His voice is pleasantly deep and he speaks softly but with a trace of command. “I am Aymeric de Borel, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Ser Aymeric,” Alphinaud responds. “I am Alphinaud Leveilleur and my companion is–”

“Durae Arulaq,” he says, inclining his head. He finds himself rather unable to tear his eyes away from him.

Here, at last, is the end of one of his strings. And…

There’s no mistaking that the other trailing end of his string is attached to the heavily armed and armoured man who leans unobtrusively against the wall to the left of Aymeric’s chair.

His mouth is set in a thin line, face obscured by the visor of his helmet. But the string around his finger is tied to one of the ones about Durae’s. Whether or not he’s watching him, Durae cannot tell, but butterflies flutter in his stomach just the same.

He hopes he makes for a good first impression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 096\. Writer’s choice – first time  
>  **Words:** 651 words


	5. complete

“May I speak with you, Master Arulaq?”

Durae smiles at Aymeric and nods, “Only if you promise not to call me ‘Master Arulaq’ again.”

Blinking, Aymeric chuckles softly, “Ah, of course.”

It’s simply the three of them in the Intercessory of Camp Dragonhead, Alphinaud and Haurchefant having already left. The third member of their little triad, Durae has learned, is named Estinien and he’s said very little throughout the meeting and now.

“Do stop dancing around,” Estinien says. “He has the final end of our strings. You don’t need to be so formal about it, Aymeric.”

“You can speak,” Durae says. He flushes, because Estinien’s voice is deep – much deeper than he could have expected – and makes his bones tremble deliciously.

“I’m not a mute.”

“Estinien, for once you could _try_ to be polite,” Aymeric chides lightly. “Especially since our first meeting is… less than ideal.”

“I don’t mind. I didn’t… think that I would ever meet either of you.”

“We have been waiting for you,” Aymeric says. He takes both of Durae’s hands in his. “I had hoped that this would go better – be easier – for all of us, but no one can predict everything.”

“He’s here now.” Estinien steps away from the wall he’s been leaning against the entire time and makes his way around the table and over to them. So close, it’s easy to tell that he’s only a little taller than Durae and Aymeric, though it’s difficult to tell with his armour. “Make the most of it.”

“Such a way with words…” Aymeric shakes his head. He squeezes Durae’s hands, “Forgive us both, Durae, but I must return to Ishgard. But I will see you again soon, you have my word.”

Durae does not expect the kiss, which makes him freeze in place.

Aymeric’s lips are warm against his cheek, soft and smooth, and linger for a hair longer than would be considered polite. He smiles as he pulls away, squeezing Durae’s hands one last time, “I look forward to getting to know you better, Durae.”

He finds that he likes how Aymeric says his name, the way that it rolls off his tongue.

“Estinien–”

“There is nothing in the city for me,” Estinien says. “I will remain here, in Dragonhead. If there are any changes with the horde or heretics, I will know.”

Aymeric smiles, the edges of it soft and familiar, “Thank you, my love.”

Rather than kiss him, Aymeric lays a hand on Estinien’s shoulder, before he leaves the Intercessory. A silence settles between Durae and Estinien, one that the former doesn’t know how to break.

“You should rejoin your companion,” Estinien says, at last. “Before he becomes too full of words to hold them all in.”

Durae frowns, “Alphinaud isn’t that bad…”

“He thinks too much and holds himself in high opinion. The only one he holds higher is you,” Estinien states. “Best to keep him in check and on the ground where he belongs.”

“If you want to be rid of me, you only need to say so,” Durae says. “I understand that this can… be difficult, but–”

“You are right: this is difficult,” Estinien replies. “But only because I… am unsure how to behave. It’s easier with Aymeric.”

“I’m not expecting anything from you, Estinien. To me, it’s enough that you accept me. I cannot ask for anything more than that.”

Estinien says nothing, mouth still set in that stern, thin line. He stares at the ground for a long while, before his head tilts back up.

“... thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 037\. Complete  
>  **Words:** 594 words


	6. memory

Vengeance burns through him for the family he lost.

That day is forever burned into his memory, images that will never leave him no matter how long he lives.

He remembers his parents’ screams as Nidhogg’s flames consumed them. They echo at night in his dreams, keep him from the deep rest that he so craves. _Avenge us_ , they whisper to him in the dead of night, in the moments where he thinks he might know peace.

Estinien knows that he will never know such a thing until Nidhogg lays slain at his feet. When his lance runs red with the great wyrm’s blood, then his duty to Ishgard ends – his vengeance fulfilled.

Sometimes, though, that becomes muddled.

Aymeric was first, tall, handsome, and as dutiful a man as any could wish for a son, in a soulmate. That he’s the bastard of the archbishop means little to Estinien – he came to him just as flawed, but so full of the belief that Ishgard could be better, that _he_ could be better that it was impossible not to follow him.

He has never regretted that decision.

Then there is Durae.

He had always known that he had two strings – doubly blessed, his parents had told him. It stings to remember that, how _proud_ and _happy_ they had been for him when he’d revealed that to them. His fists clench and he shoves the memory back; it’s not the time.

But it’s different when faced with the truth of it all.

Durae is… sweet. Reminding him of his little brother, in some ways, because Durae is _young_. Oh, not by much, but he’s retained the sweet, honest nature of a child.

And he accepts whatever Estinien can give him.

It’s impossible not to be drawn in by him. And Estinien can see why Haurchefant considers him to be such a good friend. Wherever help is needed, he’s there, and his magic is more potent at healing than any Estinien has seen a chirurgeon use before. It’s fascinating, the power that he wields freely and easily – it comes to him like breathing.

Estinien watches, in the lead-up to the battle, and he will remember. Sometimes the vengeance isn’t enough, sometimes he needs to be reminded that there’s _more_ to fight for than just avenging his family.

The memory of them burns at the thought: _how could we not be enough?_

Sometimes, he needs to be reminded that there is a brighter tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 093\. Memory  
>  **Words:** 414 words


	7. blizzard

If he’s being honest, Durae had come to believe that Estinien might have fused into his armour, so rarely has he seen him without it. But, when he opens his assigned room’s door to a brisk knock, he finds himself face to face with a handsome, silver-haired elezen. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s _Estinien_.

“I… I apologize,” Estinien says. “But I saw that your light was on and I…” He sighs, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Durae steps aside, “You’re always welcome here, Estinien.”

Estinien has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, his feet are bare against the cold stone floor.

Closing the door behind him, Durae hesitates, before taking one of Estinien’s hands in his. He ignores the way that Estinien starts, staring at their hands, and gently pulls him towards the large bed arranged at the centre of the room, across from the fireplace.

“Are you cold?” Durae asks, turning down the blankets.

“I’m used to it,” Estinien replies. “I… I sleep better with Aymeric. Usually. With you, I have to admit, I don’t know if it will be the same. We’ve not known each other long.”

“We have to start somewhere, and here is better than anywhere else,” Durae smiles at him, gently tugging Estinien down to sit on the bed beside him. “We’re on your territory, Estinien. So, we will take this at your pace.”

His heart’s fluttering madly in his chest and it feels as though he’s swallowed an entire jar full of butterflies. They’ve taken up residence in his stomach, leaving him feeling oddly queasy yet strangely elated. After all, Estinien’s come to him.

Estinien squeezes Durae’s hand, “You’re much better at this than I.”

“Only because I’ve waited so long, I can wait a little longer.”

“But you shouldn’t.” Estinien scowls. “You deserve better and more than I could ever give you. Aymeric has said more than once that my manners are lacking and I will readily admit that I’ve been… distant when I should not have been. Rather than observing, I should have been more involved. I–”

Gently, he lays his fingers on Estinien’s lips and smiles, “Estinien. It’s alright. You don’t need to explain yourself to me. It’s enough that you are here _now_.”

Even so, Estinien frowns as he pulls Durae’s hand away from his mouth, “No, I owe you an apology, at the very least. For my behaviour.”

“Then considered it accepted.” Durae lifts Estinien’s hand to his mouth and kisses it lightly. “If you think that spending the night with me will help you sleep, then I’m more than willing. I’m here for you, Estinien, no matter what.”

“Already, you are more than I deserve,” Estinien murmurs softly. He leans in, slowly, and lets his head rest against Durae’s shoulder. “But I’ll be content in knowing that you are mine.”

Biting his lip to stop his smile from cracking his face, Durae leans into the pillows at his back, taking Estinien down with him. His heart continues its fluttering beat in his chest as Estinien curls into him, an arm sliding around Durae’s waist, his nose buried in the scale markings at his neck.

“If I wake you, I’m sorry,” Estinien murmurs. “I have… nightmares, on occasion.”

He brushes his lips against Estinien’s forehead, “You’re not alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 012\. Blizzard  
>  **Words:** 554 words


	8. bored

When the morning dawns, bright and early, the storm from the night before is still blowing.

Comfortably warm, Durae is loath to move from the cocoon of blankets that he’s created for himself. After all, so long as the whiteout conditions persist, there’s little to be done except rehash what they already know. Thus, if he wants to have a lazy morning in bed, no one will miss him… right?

It takes him a little longer to remember he isn’t alone.

His tail is currently curled around Estinien’s hip and the two of them are comfortably tangled together, something that Durae’s a little surprised about. There’s also no holes in the pillows, which is something to be grateful for; his horns can be terribly inconvenient at times.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Durae blinks, then glances up at Estinien, whose hair is tussled and tangled from sleep, but wearing a more contented look than Durae can ever remember seeing him wear.

“How long have you been awake?” Durae asks. It can’t be long after dawn, though it’s difficult to tell with the conditions outside.

With a little half-shrug, Estinien replies, “Since about dawn, I would think.”

“Stay a while? Nothing important is likely to happen with the weather being as it is,” Durae asks.

There’s a very long pause during which Estinien says nothing. Rather, he frowns, and runs a finger almost absently along the scales below Durae’s right eye. Durae shivers, surprisingly sensitive to every little touch and resists the urge to cuddle closer.

At long last, Estinien nods, “I think that I might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 045\. Bored  
>  **Words:** 263 words


	9. bed

It’s late into the night when Aymeric returns to Camp Dragonhead, exhausted and with hair damp from the heavy snowfall of the day. He fully expects, when he opens the door to his assigned quarters, to find a fire going and Estinien curled up under the covers waiting for him.

That is not what he finds.

While there’s certainly a fire waiting to be stoked, Estinien is nowhere to be seen.

Frowning, he withdraws from his room and closes the door.

“Something wrong?” Lucia asks, regarding him with a frown.

“Estinien isn’t there,” he replies. Then, it strikes him. “Forgive me, it seems I’ll be staying elsewhere for the night.”

“Very well, sir. May I ask where?”

He smiles at his second-in-command, “Lucia, if there is an emergency in the dead of night, I trust that you are more than capable of handling it in my stead.”

“Of course, I was simply… curious.”

He stops a passing servant, “Pardon me, but could you tell me where I might find Master Arulaq?”

“He’s retired, sir, but if you must know, his room is on the next floor. Third door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

He chooses to ignore the knowing smile on Lucia’s face as she retires for the night herself. Rather, he makes his way up the stairs and to the indicated door. He hesitates for a moment, then knocks.

There’s no answer, but he expected that given the late hour.

Easing the door open – which, much to his surprise, is unlocked – he finds his wayward soulmate.

Though he would deny it when awake, Aymeric knows from experience that Estinien is terribly clingy when he sleeps. And that is as true now as always: Estinien has wrapped himself around Durae, his face buried in the hollow of Durae’s neck.

For his part, it seems Durae is just as clingy as Estinien. He’s wedged one of his horns between the pillows, obviously to make it more comfortable for him to lie on his side and to better facilitate Estinien’s chosen position.

It warms his heart to see that his two soulmates have grown close enough in his absence to share a bed. He only wishes that he could have been there alongside them.

But his duties took him elsewhere, and they, too, have their own. Each of them recognize that and it’s enough. The quiet moments in between can be just for them.

Quietly, so as not to disturb them, Aymeric strips himself down to his smallclothes. With the utmost care, he climbs into bed behind Estinien, sliding an arm around his waist as he does.

For a moment, Estinien tenses, then relaxes once more, curling into the heat of them both. He doesn’t move again except for the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 073\. Bed  
>  **Words:** 470 words


	10. hide

For a few hours, it’s safe to pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. That he’s not the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, that he doesn’t have responsibilities and the weight of expectations on his shoulders, that he can just enjoy this peaceful, quiet time with his soulmates.

It’s hard to believe that the man lying across from him bested van Baelsar.

Even awake, Durae has a soft expression on his face, and even in the short time that he’s known him, Aymeric knows that he has been more than willing to help others. The people of Camp Dragonhead speak well of him – as does Lord Haurchefant – and even the members of House Durendaire at the Observatorium and Whitebrim speak of him fondly. His reputation well precedes him – he could not ask for a better soulmate.

And then there’s Estinien. Rough around the edges, but capable of such deep love and loyalty that Aymeric is flattered and humbled to be its recipient. Estinien has seen him at his lowest, knows his secrets, and has never once faltered in his loyalty; he would never abandon him, even should all of Ishgard turn against him.

He’s stirred from his thoughts when he realizes that he’s being watched.

“Have you been awake long?” Durae asks softly.

One eye, Aymeric notices, has a brighter circle of blue around it. He hadn’t noticed it behind the wave of raspberry hair that falls across Durae’s face.

“Not long,” he replies. “My apologies, I hadn’t realized you were awake.”

Durae tilts his head to the side a little, more into the crack of pillows, “What were you thinking about?”

“How very lucky I am to be bless with two soulmates,” Aymeric replies, smiling. “I could not ask for anyone better.”

It’s interesting to see the way that Durae’s cheeks flush, staining them a deep shade of red. His eyes flutter in embarrassment, but he meets Aymeric’s gaze nonetheless.

“And here I was thinking the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 001\. Hide  
>  **Words:** 334 words


	11. extreme

Ever since he picked up that crystal in the Twelveswood, Durae has found himself in some dangerous and, frankly, unbelievable situations. Before, he was simply a little bit of an oddity – a white mage who wasn’t a padjal – and now here he is, trembling from exertion and cold, but victorious before a primal yet again.

He’s too exhausted to try and chase after Iceheart and her followers. His knees are trembling and it takes everything he has to keep himself on his feet. Durae finds himself regretting the loss of his cloak, thin and threadbare as it was, for the warmth of it, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.

With a sigh and a throbbing headache, he makes his way back to the aetheryte that led him here.

“Durae!”

The voices are a mixture. He hears Moenbryda and Aymeric, but the world is going sideways at present and he’s unable to discern who reaches him first. What he is aware of is the ice and snow pressing into his skin.

“Can you stand?” Aymeric asks.

And it’s definitely Aymeric that pulls him from the snow, helps him to sit up. But Durae’s vision swims and he sees only a blur of colours.

“He must have overexerted himself,” Moenbryda says. “Come, we must return to Whitebrim – it’s closest, and let their healers tend to him.”

Durae makes a noise, he doesn’t need to see a healer. Rest is all he needs.

Moenbryda interrupts that to mean something else, “Yes, yes, I’m well aware that you are a more than competent healer, Durae, but now is not the time; you’re hardly in a position to heal yourself. Now, he’ll have to ride with someone – he can hardly ride on his own.”

“He can ride with me,” Aymeric says plainly.

“With – oh. _Oh_. I see.”

The throbbing feels like it’s growing worse and Durae squeezes his eyes closed, trying to will the pain away. Of course, that has no effect and it continues to ache. He makes only a startled noise of confusion when Aymeric picks him up, hands clumsy as he grabs at Aymeric’s armour for purchase. It’s a ridiculous moment of startled shock: Aymeric would never drop him.

Luckily, Aymeric’s chocobo is more than large enough to handle two riders. Durae has little strength to hold himself up, so he finds himself in front of Aymeric; sagging into the bird’s neck and nestled between the man’s thighs.

It’s a rather comfortable position and Durae lets himself drift as they make their way back to Whitebrim.

“You mustn’t sleep now, Durae,” Aymeric chides him softly, some time later. “Otherwise you may not wake up again.”

“M’not sleeping,” Durae slurs. “Tired, though.”

“I imagine you would be,” Aymeric replies. He eases Durae from the saddle, chases away the guards with a look and then says to someone, “Please have the chirurgeons sent to Master Arulaq’s rooms, I will see him safely there.”

There’s a chorus of ‘yes sir’s and Durae is not all sad when they enter the relative warmth of Whitebrim’s towering walls and rooms.

His room here is nothing like the more luxurious apartment he’d been granted at Dragonhead, but there’s a bed and a fireplace and that’s all that matters.

Aymeric is gentle, but matter-of-fact as he strips Durae down and tucks him under the covers of the bed, locating more on a shelf near the door and makes short work of making Durae as warm and comfortable as he can possibly be. Shortly thereafter, there’s a fire roaring in the fireplace and heat is slowly beginning to permeate the room.

Exhausted and weak, Durae sticks a hand out of his little cocoon of blankets and reaches towards Aymeric. Or the blur that Durae’s certain is Aymeric.

Warm, bare hands encircle his and hold it tightly. He can’t see Aymeric’s face clear enough, but he’s certain that the man is making a comforting expression, “Try to stay awake till the chirurgeons have come. After that, you may rest to your heart’s content.”

His jaw cracks on a yawn, “Don’t need a healer… just rest.”

One of Aymeric’s hands runs through his hair, cups his cheek, and the pads of his fingers rub against the base of one of his horns, which sends shivers down Durae’s spine.

“I will feel better knowing that you have been tended to.”

He nods, “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 061\. Extreme  
>  **Words:** 738 words


	12. lucky

Estinien finds Aymeric at Durae’s bedside. It’s quite clear, by his serious yet relaxed expression, that their soulmate is alive and unharmed – which is a relief. Estinien hadn’t realized he’d been carrying that weight, that worry, until he sees Durae’s sleeping face.

“I have been assured that he’s in good health, simply exhausted,” Aymeric says, looking up from the reports in his hand and setting them aside.

Crossing his arms, Estinien leans against the door, ignoring how he yearns to approach, to touch. “Yet here you are, sitting vigil.”

“It seems to be my lot in life, yes,” Aymeric replies, mouth quirking up. “You know well how I worry.”

“Too much. You will age prematurely if you keep to it.”

“So you say.” Aymeric reaches a hand out to him, “Come, you will feel better having assured yourself of his well-being.”

Of course Aymeric knows. No one knows him like Aymeric does.

Though he knows well that his gauntlets make it awkward and uncomfortable to hold his hand, Estinien takes Aymeric’s hand and approaches the bed.

The chair that Aymeric’s settled himself in can hardly be comfortable, and it’s obvious that he’s been conducting his duties from Durae’s bedside. Estinien frowns, there is going to be talk and not all of it good; it will only be worse once it reaches certain ears within Ishgard. Aymeric’s reputation is already shadowed by the truth of his birth, he hardly needs the gossip that will come once Durae’s identity is known.

His accomplishments will hardly matter, though will likely win him grudging respect from certain quarters. But there will be no overlooking that he is an outsider – that he is an Au Ra.

But all of that melts away when he carefully sits on the edge of Durae’s bed.

He’s nestled in a cocoon of blankets – likely Aymeric’s doing – and Estinien hesitates, before he takes his hand back from Aymeric to remove his gauntlets. There’s only a tiny tremble to his hands as he reaches out and takes Durae’s face between his hands. Durae’s cheeks are warm between his hands, the contrast between the smooth skin and the edges of his scales all the more clear.

Estinien runs his thumbs along the scales of Durae’s cheeks. He watches as his face pinches for a moment, as though he’s about to wake, but then it settles again into that pleasantly peaceful look.

A warm hand settles over one of his and Estinien looks over to Aymeric, who smiles softly at him.

“He is much stronger than we could ever have anticipated. He’ll recover, Estinien. Simply give him time to rest.”

“I’m aware.”

But he can’t chase away the relief that’s surging through him. He had been too far away when word had reached him that Durae had gone to confront Iceheart. Reports had been scattered, but word had reached him that a _primal_ had been summoned and that Durae had fought and won.

Then he learned that Durae, upon returning from the confrontation had _collapsed_.

Estinien will deny the fear that had coursed through him at the thought. Fear that he had quickly suppressed and thrown behind strong barriers. The Eye constantly seeks weakness and he can ill afford to give it one now. But now, things have changed. Before, he hadn’t had a soulmate who strolls into fighting primals as though it’s a daily occurrence.

“He is not used to the cold,” Estinien says. “If he is to spend any extended time in Coerthas or Ishgard, he will need something more appropriate to the weather.”

There’s laughter in Aymeric’s eyes, “I have taken care of it. Lucia was quite amused.”

Estinien bites his tongue at the mention of Aymeric’s second-in-command. Though Aymeric would trust the woman with his life, Estinien is far more wary. A Garlean, to him, is a Garlean and he will wait to see where her loyalties truly lie.

But this is hardly the time.

“That was quick of you.”

“I had the time to make arrangements and inquiries during my return to Ishgard,” Aymeric states, smiling openly now. “My only hope is that he likes what I chose. But that can wait till he’s recovered.”

The room is so tiny that it’s cramped with just the three of them within it, but Estinien will hardly leave either man’s side. Rather, once assured of Durae’s health, he retrieves his gauntlets and takes up vigil near the door, where he can monitor who enters and exits.

“... do you intend to introduce him to your father?” Estinien asks, late into the night.

Aymeric blinks, twitches slightly, “Only if I must. My life is hardly his concern. He has made that clear many a time.”

Estinien nods.

“I’m surprised you would ask. You were never fond of him and you have made that clear often.”

Estinien glances away, glad that his helmet hides his face, “Simply that the thought of him meeting Durae… sits ill with me.”

“You are not alone on that thought,” Aymeric says. He brushes the hair away from Durae’s face, “I would spare him that.”

“It will be difficult for him, adjusting to life in Ishgard. That is, if he’s willing to come with us.”

Aymeric looks at him, surprised, “You have been thinking about this, have you?”

Estinien scowls, “We are lucky to have found him. And I know you, Aymeric. You would rather have him close and safe than away and in possible danger.” _I would rather him be where I can help him._

“He will not have it easy, no. But I have faith that he will rise to the occasion,” Aymeric settles back in his chair, crossing his arms. “The Au Ra have always been regarded with suspicion – despite his deeds and the trust he’s clearly won here, that will not be reflected in Ishgard.”

“We will see. He will have us.”

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 048\. Lucky  
>  **Words:** 984 words


	13. awakening

Ultimately, what wakes Durae is the feeling that there are eyes on him.

He slowly cracks his own open, and immediately spots Estinien leaning against the door to his room.

Though his throat feels like he’s gargled a glass full of sand, he swallows and asks, “Been there long?”

Estinien starts, “You are awake?”

Then, Aymeric is leaning into Durae’s field of view from his chair at Durae’s bedside. Oh, he hadn’t seen him there.

With his bare hands, Aymeric presses the back of one to Durae’s forehead, “How do you feel? You have no fever…”

“A little sore,” Durae admits. “But mostly still tired.”

“Do you always collapse after facing primals?” Estinien asks. “It seems… to take much out of you.”

Durae shrugs, “It’s always a difficult fight, but somehow, I manage. I simply… I hadn’t expected that Iceheart herself would channel Shiva the way that she did. It was more difficult than I had anticipated.”

“You had me worried,” Aymeric admits, settling back in his chair after turning down the small mountain of blankets that Durae has piled on top of him. “And though he is loath to admit it, Estinien as well.”

Estinien shoots Aymeric what is clearly a sharp look, but it’s one that Aymeric ignores. Durae chuckles softly and allows Aymeric to help him sit up, pillows piled behind him to act as support.

“Estinien, can you…?”

With a nod, Estinien opens the door behind him and beckons over a servant, “Fetch something to eat for Durae, if you would.”

“... you could have been more polite,” Aymeric mutters, but that’s all that he says on the matter.

The door clicks closed and Estinien slowly approaches Durae’s bed, “Do you think you can manage food?”

Durae’s stomach rumbles in response and he blushes.

“I think I can manage a little.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 097\. Writer’s choice – awakening  
>  **Words:** 304 words


	14. want

The few days that Durae spends at Whitebrim recovering from his fight against Shiva are, well, simply perfect. He finds himself wanting for little, as even though Aymeric is recalled to Ishgard for a time to see to his duties, he has Estinien – who makes certain that he wants for little.

The majority of his time is spent abed, watching the snow fall past his window and listening to Estinien relate stories from his own time in the Temple Knights.

“I’m afraid that I do not tell it as well as Aymeric,” Estinien admits. “He has a greater gift with words than do I.”

Durae lays a hand over Estinien’s and squeezes it, smiling reassuringly, “You’re fine, Estinien. You needn’t worry that I find you dull.”

Quite the contrary, the longer that he spends in his company, the more intriguing and attractive Durae finds him. Estinien may come across as gruff and harsh at times, but below that is a man who cares deeply – who loves his homeland fiercely and would do all to protect it. The two of them are much alike.

“I have been frequently reminded that my… social skills are lacking,” Estinien admits. “Politics are unimportant within the ranks of the dragoons. And even before I joined them, I cared little for them if at all. Aymeric has always been the more tactful of the two of us.”

“It’s all a part of your charm,” Durae quips, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “I consider myself incredibly lucky to have found you both. To be… I suppose deserving of you.”

“You deserve better than I,” Estinien admits quietly. “You deserve someone who could give you the world, for you certainly are worthy of it.”

Though it causes his joints to protest fiercely, Durae sits up and gently cups Estinien’s face between his hands.

“You have me now,” he says. “And I say you are worthy.”

Slowly, as though afraid that Estinien might start, he leans forward. And brushes his lips across Estinien’s. He smiles at him gently, “There.”

Estinien stares at him with that same stoic expression he always seems to wear. But then, it cracks slightly at its edges, revealing a tiny smile, and he nods.

“I understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 011\. Want  
>  **Words:** 375 words


	15. change

"I – _we_ thought that you deserved something a little more appropriate to Coerthas' climate," Aymeric says. "Do you like it?"

Durae's never been partial to the light robes that the padjal white mages favour. Even though they had been offered to him as a part of his training, he had always declined in favour of his own style. He runs a finger along the length of a sleeve, surprised at how light and warm the fabric feels. But, ultimately, what wins his favour is the fact that included is a heavy, fur-lined winter cloak – perfect for keeping the chill of Coerthas' constant blizzards out.

He smiles at Aymeric reassuringly, "It's perfect. Thank you."

What does surprise him is that Aymeric insists on leaving the room to allow Durae to dress himself. Having grown up accustomed to changing with his siblings, Durae's never taken issue with being in various states of undress around others. But it seems that his soulmates have a different stance on the matter, which he will simply have to respect. For the moment.

The outfit is simple, but fits him well, which Durae is pleased by. It's also, mercifully, much warmer than his previous attire – which had been better suited to the milder climes of Gridania and the heat of Ul'dah. If he's to spend much more time in Coerthas, than it would be best to be prepared; he'll have to adjust his wardrobe accordingly.

He steps out of the room fully dressed, cloak in hand, "Something the matter?"

But Aymeric merely beams at him, then leans down and kisses his cheek, "Nothing. You look lovely."

Durae's well aware he's blushing, and doesn't particularly care if anyone notices. Rather, he smiles back at Aymeric, "So, what next?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 035\. Change  
>  **Words:** 293 words


	16. pass

There’s a twinkle in Lucia’s eyes as she regards Durae, “And, of course, I have word for you, Master Arulaq.”

His heart skips a beat in his chest, “Aymeric and Estinien?”

“Both are well,” Lucia replies. “And wish you luck in your investigation of the Keeper of the Lake – though, I do believe that Estinien made it clear that he would have accompanied you, had the situation been less dire for Ishgard.”

“I know. I understand,” Durae replies. He bites his lower lip, “Will you tell them that I miss them?”

“They miss you dearly as well. It’s quite obvious to those who know them well.” There’s a laugh in Lucia’s voice, though she disguises it well. “Your presence in Coerthas is sorely missed and they anxiously await for the conclusion of this business so that you may return to them. Situation permitting, of course.”

“I’ll return to them as soon as I’m able.” He carefully avoids meeting Minfillia’s eyes as he says that, even though he can feel them boring into his back. There will be plenty of questions later, once Lucia has left.

“I shall carry word of this back to them,” Lucia says, hand over her heart, as she bows to him. “And let me thank you again for your services to Ishgard. They are greatly appreciated.”

Once the door clicks closed behind her, Durae is left with Minfillia and he can feel his cheeks warm. Very slowly, he turns to face her.

Minfillia’s eyebrows haven’t come down from her hairline yet, and she regards Durae with a knowing smile, “I see that there have been more developments in Coerthas than I first thought. Are congratulations in order?”

“I – what?”

“I hadn’t thought to ask, whether you had found your soulmate or not,” Minfillia explains. “It wasn’t relevant when we first met and, I have to admit, never came up subsequently when it likely should. Your personal life is your own, and I will respect your need to keep certain things to yourself. But you needn’t be ashamed of this, Durae. We are friends, after all.”

“I know,” Durae replies softly. “You’re right. It never did seem relevant to discuss. And I hadn’t, well, I hadn’t given it much thought either. I had never thought I would meet them – not after so long. But I’m… I’m glad that I have.”

Her smile is bright and warm, “And I am happy for you. After everything that we all have been through, that you have achieved, you deserve happiness. I hope that you find it with them.”

“They have been good to me, more so than I ever could have expected. And I’m glad to have them.”

“I suppose we can discuss the particulars of this development later,” Minfilla says slowly. “Since my assumption is that you intend to join them. And I see no issue with such – we can certainly reach you should we have need of it.”

He thinks of the stirring of Midgardsomr and nods. “Yes. They… well, you’re right. We can discuss this later, when we don’t have urgent Scion business hanging over our heads.”

“I look forward to that time.” Minfillia chuckles, “Though, I suppose that you would like to be the one to break the news to the others?”

“Please.”

Just thinking about _Thancred’s_ reaction is enough to have him turning red to the tips of his ears. It will be nothing but merciless teasing regarding the matter from now on.

“Of course. I will respect your wishes and let you handle the matter. Just as I trust you to handle the Keeper of the Lake. Good luck, Durae, may you ever walk in the light of the Crystal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 040\. Pass  
>  **Words:** 620 words


	17. entrapment

He and Minfillia never get to have that conversation about his soulmates.

He never has the chance to tell the other Scions.

Rather, it feels as though he’s swallowed hot coals as he flees through the tunnels. Alone now. The only sounds are his own echoing footfalls and ragged breathing. He’s choking on his own breath as he runs, but he keeps going. Because he has to. Because it’s what he does.

Even when he emerges from the tunnels, into the cool night air of Thanalan, his throat feels tight, his lungs constricted. Only across the valley, he can see Ul’dah, sparkling like a jewel in the night. His breath catches in his throat.

How could things have gone so wrong? So quickly?

“Durae!”

But he’s distracted from the ache inside of him. It takes a moment for the sight to click. _Alphinaud_.

The relief that unfolds within him nearly brings him to his knees. At the very least, he’s not alone now.

“Full glad am I to see that you’re safe. What of the others?”

And all Durae can do is shake his head. He sees how Alphinaud’s shoulders slump, how he trembles. He remembers, vividly, that Alphinaud is still young – younger than him. But he had always seemed so strong, so assured, and Durae realizes, startled, that, once more, everything has fallen to him.

Though Alphinaud’s face is obscured by his hood, his lips are shaking as he presses them together.

It’s all that they can do to make their escape.

As the _Enterprise_ makes its way through the skies towards Coerthas and Dragonhead, Durae is left to his thoughts. The cold air ruffles through his hair and Durae wraps his arms around himself, missing already the heavy weight of the cloak that Aymeric had gifted him. He had left it behind, favouring something light and airy for the festivities and Ul’dah’s heat.

Likely, it will be seized. Along with everything else that the Scions worked so hard to build. What they had worked for, what they had fought and bled for, now lies in ashes. Leaving only he and Alphinaud to take in what’s left of what they had helped build.

Yda. Papalymo. Thancred. Y’shotla. Minfillia. All had laid down their lives for _him_. So that he could escape.

And all Durae can think is: _I am not worth this._

 

 

 

Coerthas is as cold and unforgiving a place as Durae remembers.

But… Haurchefant welcomes them warmly, takes them into Camp Dragonhead with open arms. With little thought to what the consequences to sheltering them could be.

“You don’t have to do this,” Durae says, softly. “We can go elsewhere. Find somewhere else.”

“You think I would turn you out now? After all you have done for me? Nay, you are my friend, Durae, and I fully intend to see the debt between us paid.” Haurchefant presses a hot mug of cocoa into his hands. “Truly, I am grateful that you would come to me in your time of greatest need. I shall not forget this and you need not worry.”

He stares into the steaming liquid, ignoring the way that his eyes burn, “I cannot thank you enough for this. For all you have done for us in such a short amount of time…”

“And you do not have to,” Haurchefant claps a hand onto Durae’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “You are among friends here. And friends help each other.”

Alphinaud hasn’t looked up from his hands, “There will be pursuers, they will come for us. We should not linger long...”

“Nonsense,” Haurchefant says, waving off Alphinaud’s objections. “Your pursuers will find no friends here in Coerthas. That Ishgardian reputation for being unwelcoming and unhelpful will work in our favour. For now, rest. In the morn, we may talk more and plan what our next move shall be.”

“I… yes, you’re right, Lord Haurchefant. Thank you.”

 

 

 

Durae finds himself unable to sleep.

It’s not surprising. Each time he closes his eyes, he can vividly remember each moment of the banquet. Nanamo falling to the floor, reaching out to him is burned into his memory. His friends giving their lives for _him_.

No, it will be a very long time until he sleeps again.

So lost in his thoughts is he, that he almost misses the soft knock at his door.

Even when it registers, Durae doesn’t acknowledge it; thinking at first that it’s the wind against the window. But then the knocking turns to a sharp rap and he knows that it’s not. That he cannot ignore it.

“Come in,” he calls out, softly.

He expects Alphinaud. Perhaps Tataru. To come seeking comfort and reassurance – that they are safe, that everything will be fine.

It’s neither.

The click of metal on metal is the first clue. But the armour that appears is distinctive and his voice catches in his throat.

“Lord Haurchefant briefed me upon what transpired,” Estinien says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “I… Durae, are you alright?”

He doesn’t care that he’s hardly dressed, that his legs become tangled in the blankets and that he nearly takes Estinien down with him as he throws and collapses against him. He latches onto his armour, clings to it as tight as he can to the point that his hands ache.

The tears come, hot and hard. And Estinien holds him close as they do.

Durae lets the hurt out that he’s been holding so close to his heart. Neither Alphinaud or Tataru can see him like this. The both of them are looking to him to be strong, to lead them, to be their light in this, their greatest hour of need. But he _can’t_. He’s crumbling beneath the weight of it all; their hopes, their pain, his own hurts, the weight of all the other Scions’ lives.

He cries – cries until the tears run dry and his shoulders continue to tremble with the force of his own sobs. And he continues to shake until he can no longer, until all that remains is a numbness that slowly spreads through his entire being.

Estinien holds him through the entire ordeal; saying nothing the entire time.

It’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 078\. entrapment  
>  **Words:** 1037 words


	18. lament

Durae takes a very long time to fall asleep.

It isn’t so much falling asleep as it is collapsing from pure exhaustion; a feeling that Estinien well knows, for he has pushed himself to that point often. But Aymeric has always been there to catch him when he falls. Estinien isn’t quite used to being the one to be doing the catching.

His heart skips a beat. It feels… strangely light.

With more care than he thought himself able, Estinien takes Durae into his arms and carries him to bed, where he carefully tucks him in. Durae’s face pinches itself up as he pulls away – which makes the decision for him – and he strips quickly from his armour before climbing in beside him.

He trails a finger lightly down one side of Durae’s face, which catches on the edges of his scales. So close, he can connect imaginary lines between the bright, turquoise freckles that Durae has a healthy smattering of across his cheeks and nose.

For several long moments, he’s content to watch Durae sleep. Though his face has smoothed itself out, there’s a sadness that still clings to him that not even sleep can completely shed. Estinien frowns and draws him close, tucking Durae’s face into the crook of his neck.

His linkpearl gives a soft noise.

“Aymeric.”

«How is he?»

He runs a hand almost absently through Durae’s hair, contemplating his response before he answers Aymeric simply.

“Not well.”

Aymeric sighs, «I thought as much.»

“When I return, I will relate the full story as it was relayed to me. Durae likely knows more than Haurchefant told me, but I doubt that he will be too willing to speak of it.”

«Thank you.» There’s a long pause, then Aymeric says, «I wish I could be there. He needs both of us.»

Estinien will admit that Aymeric could do a better job than him. It has long been a nagging little thought in the back of his mind that Durae and Aymeric deserve each other far more than he deserves either of them. But… now that he’s here, with Durae in his arms, it’s hard for that thought to find its voice.

“I didn’t have the chance to speak on what we planned,” Estinien says. “But we may have to move those plans forward faster than we originally intended. Durae is in danger – though I doubt that he would ever say so.”

«From more than primals, I assume.»

“We can likely expect some kind of… reprisal from those damn Monetarists in Ul’dah. Or attempt at such.”

«I can cover for you as long as you need to be there,» Aymeric says. «I would feel better knowing that the both of you are safe and together. Intelligence and your reports suggest no current movements outside of the norm. And I trust that you will inform me if that changes.»

He can feel the hum and press of the Eye against his conscience even as he replies, “Always. No one has any suspicions?”

«Lucia knows, of course, and there is talk amongst the knights. As you well know, word travels fast. I expect that the High Houses know – or at least, have some inkling. We must tread carefully, ere we place him in further danger.»

He bites his tongue. _Because of your heritage_. But it goes unsaid between the two of them. Though he may be quite well-loved by the people for his skill and idealism, Aymeric’s appointment to the position of Lord Commander was not without its opponents. His parentage has long plagued him, casting a dark shadow over the entirety of his career.

Then, there is the not-so-small matter of the heretics.

All of that, though, they can speak of and plan for at a later time. For now, what matters most is keeping Durae safe and making certain that he’s cared for.

«But Lord Haurchefant thinks highly of him,» Aymeric continues. «That may work to our advantage.»

“I’ll speak with him in the morn,” Estinien promises. “I got the impression that he had his own plans that he had already put into motion.”

«House Fortemps is a good family. I trust that Count Edmont would listen to his son – especially with everything that Durae has done both for his family and for Ishgard. And with what he has done for House Haillenarte, perhaps we can expect some support on that front, but I would not count on it.»

Estinien snorts, “Of course. Politics.”

«Leave the politics to me, my love. For now, focus on Durae. I will survive until you _both_ can return to me.»

Pulling Durae tight against him, Estinien shifts and feels Durae move with him, “We will. I promise you that.”

«Thank you.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 005\. lament  
>  **Words:** 807 words


	19. threat

The morning dawns, cold and white over the highlands.

For a very long time, Estinien simply lies there, watching the snow blow outside the window. He knows that there is much to do, and that he will need to speak with Haurchefant on the matter of the Scions and Durae’s future. But he finds that he’s rather loath to move from his particular position.

Unsurprisingly, Durae is still asleep. Estinien is, however, pleased to note that his face has relaxed and resumed its more natural, peaceful expression; the last traces of the weight that he’s been carrying erased. It’s foolish to think that a single night of sleep will be enough to ease it, and Estinien knows that, but he still finds himself relieved to know that Durae has, at least, slept peacefully.

He does wish that Aymeric was there. He would be more suited to the talks that Estinien knows are to come. But his place is in Ishgard – the city would miss it’s lord commander were he to take his leave, even for a brief few days. No, the lot of negotiating with Haurchefant and plotting the future fall to him, and Estinien rather wishes that was not the case.

With a heavy sigh knowing the work ahead, he brushes back Durae’s hair from his face and presses a kiss to his forehead. It takes some careful maneuvering on his part to untangle the two of them, but he manages, and climbs out from the warmth of their bed into the slight chill of the room.

His armour has remained where he discarded it the night before. He retrieves it, replacing it upon his person in the same order and manner as he has always done. It’s a ritual that he has undergone so many times that it has become reflex. He reaches for his lance, but pauses.

Estinien may have no intention of leaving Dragonhead quite yet, but Durae has no way of knowing that if he awakens to find him gone. As strong as he is, has proven himself time and again to be, Estinien would spare him that doubt and pain; he glances at his lance, which leans innocently beside the door. A glance back at Durae, who has curled into the warmth he left behind, makes the decision for him.

Though it’s with no small amount of hesitation, he leaves his lance leaning against the wall by the door.

Even at such an early hour of the day, there’s no shortage of people up and about. The everyday chores and patrols go on, as they always will – a constant necessity in times of war, and Estinien cannot remember a time where Ishgard has known peace. He wanders through the halls, down towards the intercessory.

There’s an array of paperwork spread out across the table, over which Haurchefant leans.

“Ah, I had thought you and Durae would be joining me this morning,” he greets. “But I suppose it’s best that he rests.”

Estinien nods, missing the weight of his lance at his back.

“I would say, if this were any other situation than the one we find ourselves in, that I had not expected to see the Azure Dragoon himself back so soon, rather than in Ishgard where he belongs – but we both know that certain things are more important than others.”

“Aymeric knows I’m here,” Estinien replies, almost defensively. “One of us needed to be here. I can come and go easier than him.”

“Yes, Ser Aymeric can hardly slip away from Ishgard without there being… speculation. Though I believe that has already begun.”

“Let them talk. The truth is hardly their business.” He frowns, “But I did not come here to gossip with you.”

“No, you came to discuss the future of the Scions – and Durae’s in particular.”

“We can wait no longer; Aymeric has already begun the process of petitioning to allow Durae entry to Ishgard,” Estinien says. “We… had hoped to wait until a time where we could discuss the matter with him, but with the circumstances being what they are…”

“I understand. I, too, have been petitioning for the Scions to be granted access to Ishgard – a matter which my father is all too aware of. I sent him word of the Scions’ arrival and plight when they first arrived, of course, and expressed that with all they have done for Ishgard, it is only right that we offer them the sanctuary they seek.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, which opens to admit a very petite young woman.

“Ah, Lady Yugiri,” Haurchefant greets her with a smile. “What news do you bring?”

What strikes Estinien is that her features are remarkably similar to Durae’s, with her horns and scales. Another Au Ra, then. Though unlike Durae, whose scales and horns are a deep shade of pitch, hers are a creamy shade of white.

She bows to the both of them, “I dared not venture too far with the circumstances being what they are, but I spoke with my fellows in Mor Dhona. With the Rising Stones under the control of the Crystal Braves, death awaits any Scion that attempts to return.”

“We had thought as much.” Haurchefant sighs, “What of Ul’dah?”

“There has been, apparently, no panic in the streets. From what my fellow shinobi tell me, word of the Sultana’s assassination has not spread beyond the ruling elite, but the Brass Blades have been given orders to arrest Alphinaud and Durae, should they step foot in the city.

“The Crystal Braves are in the process of consolidating their power and leadership. I have my people watching them in case they decide to make a move against the Scions here, but I believe they’re wary of striking beyond Ul’dah’s borders. The Admiral and Elder Seedseer were quick to reassure the populace of their respective city-states not to believe the information spilling out of Ul’dah.”

“We can expect possible assassination attempts, then.”

Yugiri looks to Estinien and nods, “It remains a possibility. But rest assured that myself and my fellow shinobi will put a stop to any such schemes, should they arise.”

“And we thank you for your services, Lady Yugiri. They are highly appreciated,” Haurchefant says, smiling. “Perhaps now you may rest? Assured as you are of the Scions’ safety here in Dragonhead.”

Yugiri bows to Haurchefant, “Thank you, my lord. I will do so.”

And, with that, she withdraws from the intercessory, leaving Estinien and Haurchefant alone once more.

“One of the Scions’ Doman allies,” Haurchefant explains. “I will admit, that her network and skills have come in handy in the past few hours. She effortlessly got out word of the missing Scions and that there were survivors to her fellows, and received word in return.”

Estinien glances down at the table, which is covered with intelligence reports – all written in the a similarly neat and uniform hand. He can make out a little of their contents, upside for him as they are, and can see that the situation is, perhaps, more dire than Yugiri made out.

“We already turned away a few… curious agents,” Haurchefant admits. “They did not get passed the gates of the camp – they were quite firmly informed that they shall find no friends here. That Ishgardian reputation for being unfriendly is coming quite in handy.”

“They will find Ishgard itself just as unwelcoming. Durae, especially.”

“Yes, but he will not be short of friends and allies,” Haurchefant says. “Rest assured, you and the our lord commander will not find yourself short on friends in the coming days. House Fortemps stands with the Scions.”

There’s another knock at the door, which opens to admit a heavily dressed messenger. He stands to firm attention, before bowing deeply to Haurchefant.

“My lord, I bring word from the count.” From the confines of his cloak, the messenger withdraws a heavy envelope which bears a large, heavy wax seal in deep crimson, bearing what Estinien recognizes – even at a distance – as being the sigil of House Fortemps. He holds it out to Haurchefant, who takes it and acknowledges the messenger with a nod.

Estinien waits, a ball of anticipation deep in his stomach, as Haurchefant dismisses the messenger and lets the door fall closed behind him. The pair of them stare at the heavy envelope, with its gilt edging and weight seal, before they look to each other.

“I do believe,” Haurchefant says. “That we have our answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 017\. Threat  
>  **Words:** 1420 words


	20. news

Upon returning to Durae’s chambers, Estinien is not terribly surprised to find that Durae’s awake.

“You left your lance,” Durae says.

And missed its presence deeply. Estinien nods, “I had no intention of leaving. Not yet, at least.”

“I… I want to apologize for last night,” Durae begins. “I shouldn’t have–”

Estinien leans down, lightly pressing his armoured fingers to Durae’s lips, “No. There is no need for apologies, Durae. You have been through much in such a short period of time, your reaction is only understandable. And I am here for _you_ , as you have been there for me.”

“... thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Estinien responds. Though it’s awkward, he sits on the edge of the bed, fingers trailing along Durae’s jaw and chin before he lets his hand drop. “I do, however, have news.”

Durae nods and swallows, clearly steeling himself for what he believes is bad news.

“I spoke with Haurchefant,” Estinien begins. “And his father has agreed to take you and your companions in as wards of House Fortemps.”

Durae stares blankly, “What?”

“You and your companions have been granted permission to enter Ishgard.” Estinien lets his gaze slide away, to where his lance rests against the wall. “Aymeric and I had intended to… ask you to come with us – come to Ishgard. We had begun the process but it’s not important now with you being taken in by House Fortemps.”

“And I would have come,” Durae says softly, laying a hand over Estinien’s. “Gladly. I only wish it could be under better circumstances.” He bites his lip, glances down, then shyly back up at Estinien, “Will my being a ward of House Fortemps change anything between us?”

“You will _always_ belong to us,” Estinien states. “But for Aymeric? Things will change.”

“Oh.”

“Do not look disappointed, Durae. It does not mean that either of us will leave you; Aymeric will simply have to go through the ‘proper’ channels to court you.”

It’s a ghost of one, but Durae grins, “And you have no intention of adhering to those channels, do you?”

“Politics matter little to me as the Azure Dragoon. I was chosen by the Eye, not appointed to my position as Aymeric was. But if it is what _you_ desire, than I will do the same.”

“I would rather that you remain you. Whatever comes, I trust you. And I trust that you will make choices you are comfortable with.” Durae smiles almost shyly at him, “Though I have to admit, I have never been courted before.”

“I would have to challenge any that attempted,” Estinien says dryly. “You are ours, Durae, as surely as we are yours. Never doubt that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 075\. News  
>  **Words:** 449 words


	21. adventure

Estinien stays for another night.

And for his part, Durae enjoys the closeness and the gentle intimacy of it. He lets his eyes drift closed as Estinien traces callused fingertips along his cheeks, his lips, following the etchings of his scales across his skin.

He leaves early in the morn, pressing a lingering kiss to Durae’s lips, “Do not worry. All will be well, Durae. You have my word.”

Even in the hours after, the warmth of his kiss still lingers, and Durae has to resist the urge to press his fingers to his lips as he and the remaining Scions meet with Haurchefant to discuss the details of their relocation to Ishgard.

When it’s just himself and Haurchefant, the latter offers him a smile, “As I understand, the Azure Dragoon himself paid you a visit.”

“He did,” Durae replies, resisting the urge to flush. “I hope that–”

“Durae,” Haurchefant raises a hand, stopping his apology. “You need not apologize, for you have done nothing wrong. Indeed, our family would be greatly honoured to have one of its wards courted by the Azure Dragoon himself. It is fairly common knowledge that he cares little for politics, so do not worry yourself over matters of reputation.”

“Very well.”

“All you need to is continue your good work and any lapses on his part will be forgiven – or forgotten. And, already, Ser Aymeric has made overtures to my father that he means to continue his courtship of you.”

“Yes, well.” Durae stops himself short, cheeks flaring with heat. “I had not thought it to be widespread knowledge about the three of us.”

“It is unusual, yes,” Haurchefant admits. “But you should be prepared, for it will quickly become common knowledge among the high houses and there will be those who will not be pleased, obviously, for Ser Aymeric or the Azure Dragoon to be romantically linked to an ‘outsider’. But do not worry too much, you will win over those who can – and they are all that matter.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Let others worry over the politics of the situation, Durae. You have done much already for Ishgard and, I presume, will do much more in the coming days. Your deeds will be what win you favour, let them speak for you. An adventurer you may have been, but no longer, for you are a defender of the realm. And I will hear no one else speak otherwise of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 053\. adventure  
>  **Words:** 413 words


	22. declaration

Considering the state of his homeland, Edmont has come to expect almost anything. But, he must admit, he is more than a little surprised when the Lord Commander pays him a visit – only shortly after he received word that the documentation for the Scions had arrived in proper order. He, of course, insists that the man be shown in, so that they may speak.

He wonder what urgent matter could bring Aymeric de Borel, Lord Commander, to his door and prepares himself for the worst as he enters.

Aymeric rises when he enters and the warmth in his smile catches Edmont more than a little off-guard. He had been expecting terrible news – that the Horde is to make for Ishgard once more, that something has befallen his son – but those fears seem wholly unfounded when confronted with him.

“I do apologize for the suddenness of my visit,” Aymeric begins. “But the matter is… urgent and of great personal importance.”

“I will admit,” Edmont says, a little slowly. “That I feared it would be grave news you would bring me. But I take from your manner that this is not the case.”

Aymeric shakes his head, “No, I come to you on a much more happy matter.”

It’s very strange, Edmont realizes, to see that Aymeric is both obviously giddy with happiness but, at the same time, almost bashful. He ducks his head, still smiling, with a faint dusting of pink in his cheeks. Then, he raises his head and states his business.

“One of your wards is my soulmate,” he begins. “And I would like your permission to call on him, that I might properly court him.”

Edmont blinks. Of the names he was given, there were two men. But he knows not to which that Aymeric refers. He does wish that Haurchefant could have warned him ahead of time, for surely his son would have known of this development, given his close friendship with the Scions.

“May I ask who? I had thought – but it is of no matter.”

“Ah, you speak of myself and Estinien.” Aymeric continues to smile, “I can confirm that we are involved, as we are each in the unique situation of being in possession of two strings. Estinien is one, and Durae Arulaq is the other.”

The name clicks easily and Edmont can only stop and blink.

Aymeric’s soulmate is the much vaunted saviour of Eorzea. The vanquisher of van Baelsar. The Warrior of Light himself.

Once he’s able to gather himself and his thoughts, he responds, “How fortunate you are to be doubly blessed. And I could not be more than flattered that it’s a ward of my house. Certainly, you may call upon him with the intention of courting him. I will certainly not stand in the way of your doing so.”

“Thank you.”

“I take it you’re prepared for the talk that there will be? I, obviously, have no objections, given all that the man has done for both Ishgard and Eorzea as a whole. But there will be talk, and those who will not be so forgiving.”

Aymeric shrugs, “It matters little to me what others think. Durae and Estinien’s opinions are all that important to me on this matter.”

“Good. I assume that I can expect that the Azure Dragoon will also be calling upon him?”

“He shall. But given the difference between our positions, he has no intention to seek out your permission to court him; he would do so whether you agreed or not. It’s simply how he is and he is unlikely to change.”

“I would, of course, consent to it, regardless of whether he asks for my permission or not,” Edmont replies. “He is your soulmate; I shall not stand in the way of that.”

“Thank you,” Aymeric says warmly. “Both of us greatly appreciate it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 098\. Writer’s Choice – Declaration  
>  **Words:** 645 words


	23. float

Crossing the bridge, Durae can’t help but be reminded of the last time he set foot on the Steps of Faith, battling against Vishap. He remembers that there had been a lot of running, trying to avoid being trampled upon by the huge dragon, and that things had quickly devolved into what amounted to chaos - with adventurers and Temple Knights running every which way.

It had also, he remembers, been a clear day, and the city of Ishgard had been visible in the distance, at the end of the long bridge.

Today, though, is overcast and a heavy mist clings to everything - obscuring the city from view until they’re practically right on top of it. Or, at least, at its gates.

The statues that mark the way seem strangely disembodied, floating above the mist as they make their way across the bridge. The gates and the city itself, too, come into view in such a way, seeming as though they’re floating in the mist. Durae has to crane his head back, to try and take in all of it, and his stomach flutters with nerves.

He’s well-aware that few outsiders are granted entrance to Ishgard. That they’re lucky that Haurchefant and his father would take them in, especially with all that has happened in Ul’dah. But being faced with the reality of it, it becomes incredibly daunting.

Durae has only heard talk of Ishgard, from Haurchefant and his own soulmates. He thought that he knew what to expect, but the sight of the city rising through the mist is more than enough to take his breath away.

Alphinaud and Tataru, too, seem to be rather in awe of the huge stone gates that stretch towards the sky in front of them, and both of them start slightly when, with a loud creak and groan, the huge iron gate begins to ascend to allow them entrance to the city proper.

Once they pass through, Ishgard slowly begins to reveal itself to them.

Aymeric had said that the city was built in different levels and that the lower ones had born the brunt of the last assault by the Dravanians.But to be faced with it is different.

There’s crumbled rubble as they make their way along the winding path that leads into the city, and Durae can _just_ make out the sight of an aetheryte in the distance. People occasionally poke their heads around particularly large pieces of stone, each of them wearing the same look of weary disdain. Clearly, outsiders are not welcome here.

Reaching up, Durae tugs his hood forward to cover more of his face. But he sees the way that people bend their heads, point and whisper, when he passes. Au Ra are rare enough in Eorzea, but even more so in Ishgard. His scales, horns, and tail which clearly mark him as an Au Ra are frightful to the Ishgardians, several of whom withdraw behind the rubble in fear as they pass.

Durae tries not to let it get to him. Really, he does. But it does sting something terrible.

Luckily, they do not have to go far before they’re greeted by a man whose clothes bear the emblem of Haurchefant’s house. He bows as they approach, and offers them their first warm smile of greeting, “Scions, it’s a pleasure to welcome to the Holy See of Ishgard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 009\. float  
>  **Words:** 562 words


	24. treatment

Edmont has to admit: he was taken aback when the Scions arrived at his home.

Certainly, he knew that his son’s reports of their efforts and work was effusive with praise and that Haurchefant definitely considered the Warrior of Light to be a friend, but to see them in the flesh is quite a different scenario.

Despite their days of recuperation at Camp Dragonhead, each bears an expression of weariness that he knows well. Although, he notes optimistically, theirs are tempered with a hope and determination strong and as sharp as steel. Even in the smallest of their members, who smiles warmly at them as the three of them are ushered in.

What takes him back, just the slightest, is that the Warrior of Light is an Au Ra.

Haurchefant had made oblique references to the Warrior of Light’s race and that it might stir some controversy in Ishgard proper, but Edmont admits to himself rather ashamedly that he hadn’t made the connection then. Certainly, any of the races common to Eorzea – apart from Elezen – would be looked upon with suspicion in Ishgard, but an Au Ra? It will be borderline deadly. They will need to tread carefully, this he knows.

Once their welcomes have been exchanged, Edmont bids that they retire for the evening, for they must be tired after their long trek across the highlands.

“Master Arulaq, a moment, if you will.”

Durae pauses and turns to Edmont, head tilted in question and face open and curious, “Was there something else you needed, Your Grace?”

And Edmont is struck, in that moment, by how _young_ Durae is. His face and manner is open, something that strikes him as being very much like Aymeric, except the latter has been tempered by the years of required politicking in Ishgard.

“Ah, nothing serious, I assure you. I simply wished to have a word with you before you retired.”

“Of course. I’m at your service.”

Edmont smiles, shakes his head, “Now, now. There will be none of that; you are a guest of my house within my home. It is I who am at _your_ service.” He clears his throat, wonders briefly if there is a more delicate way to put what he wishes to say before he continues, “I did, however, wish to prepare you for the… treatment you are likely to experience within Ishgard.”

“Because I’m an Au Ra,” Durae nods. “Yes, I’m aware that I will not be looked upon kindly; that much was made clear both by Haurchefant and by our rather… cold reception when we first entered the city.”

“It’s with shame that I admit that my people have not looked kindly upon the Au Ra, turning them away from our lands when they fled the Empire’s expansion, sheerly because of their resemblance to the Dravanians. Even now, years later, their numbers are few and they keep to themselves.”

“My parents came to the Twelveswood when I was a small child,” Durae says slowly. “My youth was mostly spent in a variety of refugee camps; my father and elder brothers found work as mercenaries, as there was little else that they could find in the way of gainful employment.”

“And you became an adventurer. Now, the Warrior of Light; saviour of Eorzea and vanquisher of van Baelsar.”

Durae flushes and looks to his feet, “I did not become so alone; there were many who supported me and fought at my side. They deserve just as much credit as I.”

“Haurchefant did say you were quite humble,” Edmont remarks. “Which will serve you well here, I believe. Above even your Scion comrades, Master Arulaq, your conduct must remain above reproach, for you will be judged much harsher than they.”

“I know.”

Edmont smiles, “It would reflect poorly upon me if I did not warn you. Tread carefully, Master Arulaq. And sleep well, we shall talk more, I’m certain, on the morn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 088\. treatment  
>  **Words:** 655 words
> 
> Feel free to hit me up on my [tumblr](http://graysonflynn.tumblr.com/) for more updates, headcanons, and whatever else you might wish of me.


	25. tour

Originally, the idea had been Aymeric’s. And, of course, Estinien had agreed with him that it was a good one. He had agreed right up until Aymeric had told him that _he_ would be the one to go. Because Aymeric, being the lord commander, could not find a way to excuse himself for his duties for the day.

And Aymeric, being Aymeric, was very convincing when it came to cajoling Estinien into going in his place.

Which is how Estinien finds himself waiting patiently – or as much as he can be – in the large, comfortably appointed main sitting room of the Fortemps estate.

It doesn’t change that Estinien feels awkward and out of place. Unlike Aymeric, he wasn’t raised by nobility. He was a commoner, then a soldier; he wasn’t raised to mind the politics and delicate balancing acts of maintaining power that goes on between the various houses of Ishgard’s noble class. He has never cared what others think of him, nor for politics, and his drive for vengeance and striving to be strongest had led to him becoming Ishgard’s Azure Dragoon.

At the same time, it had led him to Aymeric. Then Durae. Which is why he is here now.

He grinds his teeth together, resisting the urge to sigh. Even in the full armour of his station, lance at his back, he feels awkward and out of place. He holds one of the most esteemed positions in the Ishgardian military, yet Estinien has never felt that he belongs to the same world that Aymeric does.

Estinien has never been bothered by that before. He has his role to play, as does Aymeric. And they both know their place in Ishgard, what their responsibilities are, and that those have to come first – that Ishgard comes before their relationship.

That has changed. Durae changes things.

Change seems to follow Durae the same way that his fellow Scions do. Eorzea had been in a detenté with the Empire ever since the Calamity. But then, Durae had become involved and something that had been stuck had given way. And the result had been truly spectacular.

Now, Durae is here and Estinien can feel that already the winds are beginning to shift. He just doesn’t know yet if it’s for good or ill.

The door clicks open and Estinien is jerked from his musings.

And, though he will likely take it to his grave before he admits it, his heart leaps into his throat when Durae almost shyly pokes his head into the room. Then his heart promptly skips a beat when Durae’s face splits into a smile when he sees him.

“When I was told that I had a visitor, I hadn’t – but it’s not important, I _am_ happy to see you, Estinien.”

Durae steps into the room, still smiling, and gently closes the door behind him.

There’s that confused churning of emotions in his gut again. Estinien still has some trouble believing that he has somehow proven worthy of this, but he shoves that to the side.

“Aym – _we_ thought that you would appreciate a tour of the city,” Estinien says, once he’s certain that his voice won’t crack or otherwise give away his own internal emotional conflict. “I wasn’t born in Ishgard proper as Aymeric was, but–”

“Estinien, it’s alright. I would love for you to show me the city with you.”

 

 

 

There is a burgeoning sense of irritation roiling low in his gut.

Estinien had known how his people were likely to react to Durae; he and Aymeric had discussed it at length, and Durae himself had been aware. The millennia of war against the Dravanians has left its mark on all of Ishgard – not just the city itself, but her people too. And the Au Ra, with their draconian features remain still a source of wariness for the population.

No one would outright dare voice their feelings given that Durae walks with Estinien, but he can read the looks in their eyes and the loathing in the lines of their faces. And it rankles him in ways that he hadn’t thought to expect.

Luckily, Durae has not yet caught onto the fouling of his mood, and is content to take in the sights of Ishgard with an almost wide-eyed wonder. He asks questions, too, some of which Estinien finds he has some trouble answering. More than once, he finds himself wishing that Aymeric was there.

For the majority of their tour, the people are content to glare and whisper from afar, which suits Estinien well enough. At least, for the time being. But Ishgardians are proud, stubborn, and frequently open their mouths when they should know better than to do so.

The Jeweled Crozier is a popular spot for the nobility to see and be seen spending exorbitant sums of money on frivolous items to cement their status. If he’s honest, Estinien would have preferred to stay as far from it as possible, but as the centre of mercantile activity in the city, it would be remiss of him not to acquaint Durae with it.

It’s only upon their exit that someone sees fit to make an ill-thought out comment.

“Urgh, have we truly fallen so low that the greatest warrior among us would be seen with such lowborn trash?”

Estinien freezes for a brief second, then shoots a sharp, poisonous glare at the young woman who made the comment. She flinches, but then proceeds to give him an equally haughty, indignant look in return, as though to tell him that she stands by her words.

“Ivane!” To her credit, her companion looks to be absolutely mortified, “That is the _Azure Dragoon_! You would do well not to slight him by insulting his… friend…?”

The woman scoffs, “Clearly, Eleonne you have gone soft with your husband’s absence. If the Azure Dragoon is to command the respect of our people, he should associate with those more becoming of his station – not the dregs that not even the sewer rats would take. Even those lower than we know better than to associate with _their kind_.”

Estinien has more than half a mind to go straight up and slap the woman, but there’s a gentle pressure on his arm and rather, he glances to Durae.

“It’s alright,” Durae murmurs, dropping his hand once he has Estinien’s attention. “We knew there would be talk, that not everyone would be so… accepting of what I am.”

His heart feels as though it’s cracking, for Durae looks so sad and resigned in that moment. And Estinien, not for the first time, feels the urge to make it end. Out of the corner of his eye, he glances to the women, who are still watching them, and then back to Durae.

With little thought, he reaches out, takes Durae’s hand in his, and tucks it into the crook of his arm where his skin is bared to the elements.

Durae freezes, blinks, and then says, “Estinien, what–”

“I would take you over any so-called highborn lady any day,” Estinien replies, voice low, though he knows it will carry. “Soulmate or no, I am yours as surely as you are mine.”

And it doesn’t matter that there will talk, condemnations, and gossip that will spread as a result of his little declaration. For Durae, in that moment, looks so shyly and beautifully pleased that he would gladly do it all over again.

 

 

 

With Estinien giving the tour, rather than one of the Fortemps servants, Durae gets a much better and clearer picture of life in Ishgard than he otherwise would have. Estinien is confident in his own abilities and reputation, but knows that Durae is more than his equal should it come to a fight; thus, he worries little about taking Durae down through the city and into what has charmingly been nicknamed the Brume.

There’s also that he knows they will likely appreciate Durae far more for his abilities than his appearance.

As such, Estinien is not at all surprised when Durae leaves his side when he spots several children who are visibly injured. Still, Estinien remains close at hand, in case he is required to step in.

Durae crouches down, and softly asks, “Have you not seen a healer?”

Each of them look nervous, but one shakes his head, “The high houses keep to ‘emselves and don’t like to let their folk down here; and the knights, well, they try sometimes, but they’re usually too busy keeping the nobility happy and safe to spare much for us.”

“Are you a chirurgeon?” a little girl asks.

Durae smiles, “Something like that. I’m a white mage from the Twelveswood. Would it be alright if I tended to your wounds? They must hurt.”

There’s an assortment of them, though Estinien is pleased to note their wounds are not as serious as they could have been. Durae, though, has a way with the children; treating each of them in turn with a kind word and a soft smile, never acting as though he is somehow superior to them. As a matter of fact, he treats them rather the same he would an adult.

Once their wounds have been tended to, a very small girl gently tugs at Durae’s sleeve, “Would you see to my brother? He’s been bedridden since the last attack.”

“Of course.”

She glances at Estinien, who has taken up a spot leaning against one of the posts of the scaffolding that is so common in the Brume, “Your… your friend can come too. Papa always speaks very highly of you, ser.”

Estinien only inclines his head, and follows as she leads them through the winding streets and alleys until they reach a small, badly worn, and slightly scorched wooden door. She has to stretch up onto the tips of her toes to reach the latch, but she manages.

“Papa! I found a healer for Alvant!”

“Elelle, how did you–”

Her father is an older Elezen, missing his left eye – which seems to have suffered the same fate as the entirety of the left side of his face, which is badly scarred with a burn that clearly healed poorly. He also walks with a slight limp, his face going completely lax and bloodless when little Elelle opens the door enough to reveal Durae and Estinien on his doorstep.

“Mister Durae is a white mage from the Twelveswood,” she says. “He can help Alvant.”

“Thank you,” he stutters at last. “But we can hardly afford your services, and–”

“May I see him?” Durae asks. “I promise, there will be no charge. I simply want to see if there is any way that I can be of help.”

“I – I – of course, I would never – he is my only son...”

Estinien gently closes the door behind them, blocking them off from any more wandering eyes. Tongues will be loose, of course, and he does not doubt that word of Durae’s skill as a healer will spread throughout the Brume quickly.

The apartment is – much like most within the Brume – cramped and with few rooms. Durae enters one of the small bedrooms at the rear, though Estinien can still see him when he crouches down at the boy’s bedside. The boy’s father lingers, watching Durae with a keen, worried eye.

Elelle, however, is content to watch from a distance. She hops up into one of the chairs, feet dangling and swinging back and forth. Her attention quickly turns to Estinien, “Why were you in the Brume, ser? We don’t see dragoons down here – much less the Azure Dragoon.”

“Durae needed to see the city,” Estinien replies simply.

“Yes, but why did you come?” She blinks, “Do you have his thread? Papa says that our threads can lead us to strange places sometimes.”

He glances down, at the vivid red threads still visible even with his armour on, then looks down at the little girl peering curiously back up at him.

“Yes, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 030\. tour  
>  **Words:** 2009 words


	26. whore

Word spreads quickly through the city.

“Have you heard the news? The Azure Dragoon and one of those draconian-birthed spawn!”

“Are you certain?”

“I have it on good authority from Lady Ivane that the Azure Dragoon himself confirmed it. According to her, it was quite the shameless display.”

“Lady Ivane is _hardly_ an unbiased source of information. It is quite well-known that she does not know when to hold her tongue. More than likely, she said something to slight him and he retaliated in kind; it wouldn’t be unheard of.”

“Does it matter? One of those dragon-born whores–”

“Shush! That is a ward of House Fortemps you speak ill of! And _if_ Lady Ivane can be trusted, the betrothed of the Azure Dragoon. You would do well to hold your tongue, no matter what race he may be.”

“But Auntie–”

“Need I remind you of what your loose tongue has cost us? You would do well to distrust anything that Lady Ivane says, have you not been told not to associate with her?”

“She is a fine lady, of exquisite beauty and–”

“The woman is naught but a social climber of the most obvious and impolite sort. Her word is worthless and I would put no stock in anything that she says.”

“Sadly, my dear, I must confirm our nephew’s words: the Azure Dragoon’s betrothed is, indeed, one of those draconian… creatures. Lady Ivane was not the only witness to that declaration; I heard it from Lord Cideux.”

“Need I remind you, _my love_ , how much my parents disapproved of our own union? I hardly think you should pass judgment upon another.”

“But–”

“No, I will hear no more on the matter. The two of you should watch yourselves, lest you find yourselves on the wrong side of Ser Estinien.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 019\. whore  
>  **Words:** 300 words


	27. experiment

His curiosity, eventually, gets the better of him and Durae begins looking into the chirurgeons of Ishgard.

Quickly, he learns that the majority are either enlisted in the ranks of the temple knights, or in the employ of the high houses. Given Ishgard’s millennia long war with Dravania, it comes as no surprise that the occupation is in high demand; those that show an inclination are pushed into the discipline and the ranks.

Few are interested in speaking with him – either they’re too busy with their own duties and charges or they look upon him with disdain as an outsider and Au Ra.

Durae tries not to let it get to him too much, but it’s rather disheartening. His talents as a white mage should be used to help others, but the only ones in Ishgard who seem to appreciate him and his talents are those in the Brume – who are simply beyond grateful for the attention.

On one of his rare outings in Ishgard alone that he discovers the Astrologicum.

Having been educated as a conjurer and then white mage, Durae is well-versed in the ways of healing via white magic. He had given little thought to there being other forms of healing magic, but will readily admit that his curiosity has been roused.

Jannequinard and Leveva say that it was foretold in the stars that he would come, that fate led him to them. Durae isn’t certain that he completely believes them, but there must be some guiding hand at work.

For Durae, it’s an experiment. Though he had leave from the head of the conjurer’s guild to learn from other disciplines, he had never done so. His white magic has always proven to be more than up to the task of keeping himself and others alive, while also being more than sufficient at dispatching enemies. Beyond his martial staff training, he had looked into nothing else.

It’s something new, though, and a way for him to fill his days when the others are too busy to pay the Scions much mind.

And he takes to it as though he was born to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** 077\. experiment  
>  **Words:** 358 words


End file.
